His salary depended on the life of the “Protector,” and that was scarcely expected to survive from day to day. Heather would have to be told now—Heather, whose love he had grown to value too late—Heather, whom he had thrust from him that night when she knelt beside his chair, pleading to be unto him an helpmeet! Would she reproach him—would she ask if he had married her to bring her to this? No!—he knew she never could be so unlike the sweet Heather of old as to taunt him with his misfortunes; but would she be cold; would she be hard and unsympathetic; would she merely bear and leave him to bear also? If he only could have been sure of her, Arthur, walking about the lanes and alleys of the City, thought he should not have cared so much!
He had despised the crutch in his days of strength and independence; and now, when he was lame, he stretched forth his hand to touch some support in vain.
When late in the afternoon he reached Lincoln’s Inn, he found Mr. Stewart, Mr. Harcourt, and two strangers in the office.
At a glance he knew something disagreeable had happened, and, before five minutes were over, he was informed the cashier, recommended by Mr. Stewart himself, had been embezzling the moneys of the Company; that he, Mr. Black and Mr. Robert Crossenham, and Mr. Bayley Crossenham, the latter trading under the firm of “Stack and Son, Corn Factors, Mark Lane,” had all been playing into each other’s hands, buying wheat which never was delivered, and dividing the proceeds.
“We want to look at the register, if you please, Mr. Dudley,” said Mr. Stewart, with a terrible politeness.
“There,” he remarked, turning to Mr. Harcourt, when Arthur had produced the book required, “it is as I thought; and now we shall not have even the poor satisfaction of transporting him. Mr. Dudley, I should have thought that even you might have concluded there was something wrong when a clerk bought shares in a sinking concern;” and, with this remark, which was so much Hebrew to Arthur, Mr. Stewart said, “good evening,” and went off with the strangers he had brought with him.
“What is it all about?” Arthur asked of Mr. Harcourt, when they were left alone.
“There has been wholesale robbery,” was the reply, “and the Company will have to be wound up.”
“And why can they not prosecute Graham?”
“Because, being a shareholder, he is a partner, and a man cannot legally embezzle his own property. It is a bad business, a very bad business!” added Mr. Harcourt. “I am afraid Mr. Black is a thorough-paced scoundrel.”